


Desiderate

by Trams



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Body Worship, First Kiss, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Melancholy, Pining, Pre-Canon, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Voyeurism, so much pining, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trams/pseuds/Trams
Summary: "He knew of course that time didn't slow down when Billy removed the hairpin, letting his hair fall.Dark tresses cascading down to Billy's shoulders, a soft glow to it in the early morning light. Seeing it like this, Goody could not deny the desire to touch..."





	Desiderate

**Author's Note:**

> All I wanted was to write like a 100 words about Billy's hair, I have no idea where the other 4228 words came from (I don't even think the bits about Billy's hair is a hundred words)

He knew of course that time didn't slow down when Billy removed the hairpin, letting his hair fall.

Dark tresses cascading down to Billy's shoulders, a soft glow to it in the early morning light. Seeing it like this, Goody could not deny the desire to touch, to smell, to be allowed to bury his hands, his nose, in those strands. Billy's hair was captivating, looking like it would be a hundred times softer than silk, like dipping a hand in cool water, feeling it slide so smoothly between fingers calloused from too many years stroking a trigger. He felt a deep yearning in his stomach, and an itch in his fingers.

Goody was still lying on his bed roll. Billy stood with his back to him a few paces away, probably assuming that Goody was still asleep, which would explain why he looked so unguarded in this moment. Not that Billy was unable to relax around Goody, but standing around stark naked was a different kind of relaxed saved for solitude – or, if in company, for intimate moments. Something that would never be for him, no matter how much he wished for it.

He felt guilty about watching, about prying on a moment that should be private, and for no one’s eyes, and yet he could not tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. Billy was a work of art; a classical statue come to life; a gorgeous painting so detailed it looked more real than reality itself. The straight line of Billy's spine; his back muscles defined, and moving under his skin as he lowered his arms; the soft curves of his elbows; hips perfect to hold onto; and a firm ass Goody should not dream of.

They had made camp next to a river. The previous evening Billy had told Goody that he was going to take advantage of the nearby water for a proper wash, and jokingly ribbed Goody about maybe considering doing the same, as he was smelling pretty ripe. Goody had protested and said that he was offended that anyone could even presume he wasn't the epitome of cleanliness.

As Billy started walking closer to the river bank, Goody watched muscles ripple under smooth-looking tanned skin, and tried his best to ignore the growing hardness in his pants. He was surprised there was still enough blood for his cheeks to heat slightly, in a flushed embarrassment over his own reaction. He screwed his eyes shut, though from the splash he heard, it was a little bit too late for that anyway.

Minutes passed. He lay there on his side, with his eyes closed, listening to the splashing from the river, while behind him, he heard their horses grazing and enjoying the plentiful green spring grass. The sun shone down on him, and he started to sweat as he tried to think of other things. He had almost succeeded in making his own hardness subside, when he made the mistake of opening his eyes at the same time as Billy came walking back. He caught sight of glistening muscles; water droplets sliding down pecs and abs; his cock swaying between muscled thighs. All his blood rushed south once more, and Goody quickly looked back up, to Billy’s wet hair hanging down his forehead and obscuring beautiful, warm, brown eyes. If he had been even closer Goody was sure he would have been able to see sparkling water droplets on the inky black eyelashes. Goody closed his eyes again.

He heard rustling from over by Billy's bags, and soft thuds on the ground from one of the horses moving closer. He could hear Billy murmuring something soft to the horse in Korean, his voice smooth and low, impossible for Goody to catch what he was saying. He had asked Billy to teach him some words from the man's mother tongue, and if he looked straight at Billy while the other man spoke slowly, then Goody had some chance of understanding. Speaking it himself, however, only ever got him unimpressed looks from Billy, except for on the rare occasions when Goody – in what were surely flukes – managed to not mangle Billy's given name quite as badly as usual. Then Billy would look at Goody with eyes warm and almost fond. A look that never failed to warm his heart.

“You going to sleep all day?” Billy asked, a hint of concern in his voice. 

Goody opened one eye and looked over at him. Billy was wrapped up in a blanket now, covering all but his head, his shins, and feet. He wasn't looking at Goody, instead bent over to dig through his saddlebags, hair falling like a curtain in front of his face, and Goody wished for no more than to be allowed to push those beautiful locks away from Billy's eyes, to cup Billy's face in between the palms of his hands.

He had to look away when Billy turned his head up to look at Goody with an arched eyebrow, because he wasn't sure he could hide the longing and desire from being visible on his face. He was a weak man, and shame burned in the pit of his stomach. He knew he wasn’t supposed to desire his companion in this way, but while it had only been a fleeting wish to touch before, seeing Billy now in this moment, it was turning into a yearning that made him feel as if he was going to combust. It had turned into a need to act on these feelings for the first time, and it was a struggle to keep the thoughts he only had at night from spilling into the harsh light of day.

He realized he should probably answer Billy's question.

“Just savoring this calm moment of peace, before it is shattered once again by the cruel reality of life,” Goody said, proud that his voice was steady as a brick wall, when all the emotions swirling inside of him made him feel like a rickety fence in a hurricane.

Billy huffed, something close to a laugh or a snort. Goody couldn't help looking at him again, a small pleased smile forming at the sight of the even smaller smile on Billy's lips, no teeth showing, but a definite upturned corner of his mouth. He wasn't looking directly at Goody, whose eyes slowly trailed down again. Billy was standing tall, still shirtless, and the blanket hanging from his shoulders had slipped open. He was wearing pants now, and in the process of buckling his belt, with the knives hanging from it jangling softly. _Beautiful and deadly_ , Goody thought.

They had been attacked two days prior. Five men, who felt wronged over the fact that Billy had outdrawn every single one of them. They’d thought that with numbers on their side they'd be able to teach Billy, and by extension Goody, a lesson. The incident had been a reminder that perhaps they had traveled too far north east this time – where Goody’s name did more to incite anger rather than work as a reminder not to cross him.

They had been ambushed outside the town, their attackers jumping out of the trees by the road. Goody had been thrown to the ground when his horse was spooked. He had hit his head hard and was lucky the concussion he was still recovering from was the worst that happened to him. He’d still tried his best to not leave Billy all alone to take them – Goody had no doubt that Billy could take on the world alone, though he might be a bit biased, all things considered – but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to Billy. 

He’d been woozy, his head feeling like it was going to split open, and his stomach wishing to expel everything he had eaten in the past twelve hours. But he had still managed to grapple with one of their attackers, bringing him down to the ground and putting him in a choke hold. Then someone hit him over the head, and he’d passed out, but not before the image of Billy – beautiful, deadly, and almost unreal – came charging towards Goody’s attacker, face twisted into a snarl of anger. 

Goody didn’t remember much else, except for opening his eyes when everything was quiet and still. Billy crouched down next to him, leaning over Goody with a face filled with concern. Goody had the vague memory of reaching out a hand to push away a few strands of hair from Billy’s forehead, and maybe even stroking Billy’s cheek. Though now when he was lying alone on his bedroll, with his own cheeks flaming at that memory, he hoped it was nothing more than a false memory created by his own desires, as well as a concussed brain. Hopefully he hadn’t actually done any of that. Billy hadn’t been acting in any way different though, so perhaps it was just something he had imagined. He hoped that he would actually remember the feel of Billy’s hair if he had actually done it.

Goody still had a dull ache at the back of his head, the only reminder of what had happened. Billy had taken care of everything, nine bodies lying on the ground, bullet holes and stab wounds the only evidence of Billy’s work. Billy had looked like he barely broke a sweat, maybe his clothes were a little dustier, there was a rip in his shirt, but not a single drop of blood stained him – neither his own nor from one of the attackers. Billy had helped him up in the saddle and they had left. They’d spent one night in a hayloft on a ranch they had passed, before reaching the river they were currently camped next to.

He finally sat up, and didn’t look over at Billy who was buttoning his shirt. Instead he looked towards the river, the trees growing next to it, branches with budding leaves hanging low over the water. The air was surprisingly warm this early in the morning, when it was still spring and this far north. He inhaled deeply, his nose filled with the smell of leather from his horse’s tack lying near his bedroll, and the smell of grass and dirt. He closed his eyes and just breathed in and out for a moment. Goody had meant it when he said he was savoring the moment. Their lives were filled with violence, but moments like these, of stillness, of peace, were a counterbalance, something extra in life to be treasured and protected.

Not looking at Billy, he began his own morning routine: he got the fire going, dug a can of beans out of one of the bags, and started preparing breakfast. He listened to the sound of Billy gathering their things as usual, starting with his own bedroll, before moving on to Goody’s. They had done this often enough that it was all a deeply ingrained habit by now. They worked well together – not just in their morning routines – they complemented each other. Goody never had to turn and look to know where Billy was, but he was guilty of looking more than once anyway.

Goody held out a plate for Billy, and took his own while Billy sat down next to him and started eating.

They ate in silence. Goody knew they were going to have to get going soon, but judging by the fact that Billy was eating slower than usual, he too was willing to try and prolong their stay here in this moment. Goody smiled.

Eventually they finished and while Goody rinsed their plates and coffee mugs in the river, and kicked some dirt over their fire, Billy got the horses ready.

“Still savoring the moment?” Billy asked, accent more pronounced on the unfamiliar word, when he was already seated in the saddle while Goody had stopped before mounting to take one last look on their surroundings. He looked over at Billy with a crooked smile.

“Just committing it to memory,” Goody said.

“Maybe if you avoided hitting your head, your memory would work better,” Billy said. It sounded a little bit like he was poking fun, but there was something else going on in his tone of voice that Goody couldn’t quite parse. Instead of commenting he said:

“I thought of a poem,” Goody said, while swinging a leg across his horse’s back.

“Of course,” Billy said, deadpan, but there was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, and Goody started reciting it while they rode side by side. A habit as ingrained as their morning routines. Goody had done this when he had ridden alone. He talked to the horse or just himself, voicing observations out loud, reciting passages he remembered from books and plays, or poems, and sometimes he sang.

In the beginning of their partnership – when they had still been feeling each other out, getting to know one another’s personality, each of their little quirks and habits – he had continued his own habit of talking out loud about everything. Billy had seemed to just endure it in his stony silence, until the day he pointed out that: _“Goody, you talk a lot.”_ and Goody, all of a sudden self conscious in a way he had not been since he was a boy, had done three days of riding in complete silence, at the end of which Billy had sighed, and with an arched eyebrow had given Goody a look and said: _“I didn’t mean for you to stop.”_ So he didn’t. 

He talked and filled the silence, except for in the mornings when it took him longer to get going, or the days when a morning’s introspection followed him into the day, when it felt like a darkness was hanging over him, much closer than usual. On those days Billy would talk, would fill the silence, not expecting Goody to respond right away. Sometimes he spoke in his mother tongue, Goody didn't need to understand it to find enjoyment in listening to Billy's voice. Besides, it was Billy's last connection to a home long lost, and how could Goody deprive him of that?

In the evenings, when they sat around their camp fire, Goody would often join in with conversation. He would joke and sing, delighted every time Billy smiled or laughed. Whenever Billy's own jokes made him laugh, his heart would swell with a warm feeling of fondness.

He wasn’t entirely sure he deserved this, this unexpected kindness from a world that so often seemed determined on creating misery and suffering.

Late in the afternoon when the sun was starting to sink below the horizon, coloring the world a darker shade of yellow, and the sky a mix of blue, red and purple hues – they made camp in an outcropping, with large boulders at their backs, and very little grass, as it had given way for sand and rocks.

“Well, this place shouldn’t inspire any poetry, I suppose,” Billy said from behind Goody, who was setting up their fire. Goody turned his head to look over his shoulder at Billy, who was taking the saddle off of his horse.

“I’m sure I can think of something,” Goody said with a smile.

He looked around at the rocks and started waxing poetically about boulders – making it all up on the spot, not bothering to pay attention to if it made sense, as long as it rhymed – until Billy sat down opposite Goody, with an expression Goody would describe as doubtful, but also reluctantly amused. He’d seen Billy’s _‘reluctantly amused’_ -expression more than once.

“None of that made sense,” Billy said. 

Goody shrugged.

“Poetry only has to make sense to the heart, not necessarily the mind.”

“Well, if you’re done trying to convince my heart to see the beauty of a small pebble, perhaps you could see about preparing something to eat, while I gather more wood?”

“Well, of course,” Goody said, producing a can of beans. “Sadly, all we have are beans.”

“I like beans,” Billy said, with such complete and utter sincerity it felt like Goody’s heart swelled. It did that over the most random things about Billy.

“Oh, we should—” Goody stopped. He had almost suggested they head down to Louisiana, to introduce Billy to the food down there, but Goody hadn’t been back since he left a few years after the war, and he still wasn’t quite ready to go _home_.

“We should...?” Billy asked, having stood up, but stopped from walking away by Goody’s comment.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing,” Goody said. 

Billy didn't look convinced, but didn't pry. One of the things Goody had appreciated about the man from the start, had been how he waited for Goody to open up about something. Instead Billy nodded and wandered off, leaving Goody to prepare their simple meal.

The fire crackled, the air filling with the smell of smoke. There was a chill in the air, and Goody pulled a blanket over his shoulders. He thought about his heart swelling over the smallest of things connected to Billy, and he remembered that morning. Head tipping forward, he sighed and closed his eyes, trying in vain to push it all from his mind once more.

That night he woke from a nightmare, but in the moment between unconsciousness and sitting up gasping for breath, the dream slipped away like a wisp of smoke. It left him drenched in sweat and trembling uncontrollably, his heart beating rapidly, and chest clenched tight in fear – but fear of what he did not know. Though considering what they usually were about, he had a pretty good guess.

The fire had almost burned down, but the moon cast a silvery light over everything, and next to Goody was Billy crouched down. One knee resting on the ground next to his hand, the other hand a comforting presence on Goody’s upper arm.

“Breathe, Goody,” Billy murmured, and Goody realized that after the first few gasping breaths he must have forgotten to breathe normally. He closed his eyes on a shaky inhale, and opened them again when he exhaled.

Judging by the fact that Billy looked so put together Goody guessed the other man hadn’t been asleep. Billy rarely slept, he caught an hour here and there, Goody knew this because of how rare a full night’s sleep was for him as well. On nights when he couldn't sleep at all, they would sit by the fire, feeding it all night long; sometimes they'd be talking, and other times sitting in complete silence.

On nights when Goody actually slept, Billy often spent the night keeping watch. There were even times when Goody slept the whole night through, and wasn't bothered by nightmares. 

The nightmares didn't always pull him back into consciousness so violently that it made him gasp for breath with his heart racing. Sometimes it happened more gradually, but still left him with an unsettled feeling, and he ended up lying on his side, staring with unseeing eyes at their fire as it burned down to ash, reliving his past.

There were also the times when Goody was awake and Billy drifted off. However, he would often start thrashing in his sleep before waking from his own nightmares. Goody always wanted to reach out, but he had learned to give Billy space those times. After the first time he had put a hand on Billy’s arm, to offer some sort of comfort for Billy after he woke up, Goody had found himself on his back with a blade pressed to his throat, before Billy had fully woken up. Billy had apologized profusely, and then acted as if he expected Goody to want to part ways, as if Goody himself didn’t give Billy plenty of reasons to want to leave on a daily basis.

Some nights though, after he woke from one of his own nightmares, when Billy was sitting so close to him like now, the yearning and need burned brighter and stronger in his chest. It made him want to pull Billy close, to lie down again and just hold him. 

His breathing was still uneven, but his heart was slowing down. He looked at Billy, who was so close, close enough to touch, and Billy’s hand was still on Goody’s arm. There was a small frown between Billy’s eyes, those beautiful eyes that seemed to reflect the moonlight, and Goody worried he would get lost in them if he stared too long, and yet he could not stop. 

He wanted something he shouldn't want, and didn't know how to stop. The yearning he had felt at the river bank was back, even greater than before. He felt short of breath looking at Billy, his chest constricting, it was a fire consuming his very being. Still shaken from his dream, he didn’t know if he could hide anything, and yet couldn’t turn away. He was frozen in this moment. He felt raw and naked, unprotected, and as if all of his emotions and his thoughts could be seen right there on his face, clear as day.

“Oh, Goody.”

Billy started to lean in, but stopped, hesitation written all over his face. Almost without thinking Goody leaned in closer as well, eyes drawn down to Billy’s lips, which were parted slightly.

“I—” Goody started, his voice low. He licked his lips and watched Billy’s eyes drawn to the movement.

“I knew you were watching me,” Billy murmured.

Goody felt his cheeks heat up, and a flash of heat and shame ran down his spine.

“I didn’t—” Goody started, and pulled back.

“I hoped you would,” Billy said. “Wasn’t sure you...” he paused, looking for words, Goody suspected. He didn’t let him finish.

Goody leaned in, acting before thinking for a change, and closing the few inches between them he gave Billy a quick kiss. Nothing more than a brief press of lips against lips before he pulled away, all of a sudden feeling a lot like a shy teenager, even though he should be far too old to go through that again. Then the old familiar shame hit again, and he felt his stomach twist into knots.

“We shouldn’t,” he started, looking down, “I shouldn’t...”

There was shame burning in his gut, but just like the moment by the river the strong desire and yearning in his chest was overriding the sense of shame instilled in him. Helped in some way by Billy wanting it too – they weren’t suppose to want this, but if they were both in this together then perhaps—

A leg was thrown over Goody’s, and he found himself with a lap full of Billy, and he had to look up. There was a determined look in his eyes.

“Yes, you should,” Billy murmured, his hands fisted in Goody’s shirt. “You can have this.”

Billy pulled Goody closer and captured Goody’s mouth in a demanding kiss so burning hot it stole Goody’s breath away. His mind finally drew a blank as he stopped analyzing every little thing. His hands moved almost of their own accord, gripping Billy’s hips. Goody’s eyes closed, his heart speeding up. Parting lips opened up for each other, deepening the kiss, and letting out soft noises of pleasure. Heat bloomed in his chest, his heart swelling with emotion once more.

They pulled apart slowly, Goody pressing soft kisses to the corner of Billy’s mouth and moving his lips slowly across a cheek to Billy’s jaw, before leaning his forehead against Billy’s.

“Why?” Goody asked on a heavy exhale.

“Why what?” Billy said, voice low and raspy.

“Why me?” Goody said, rather than: _‘why me, when you would be better off without me, and my baggage?’_

He leaned back to look at Billy.

“I want you,” Billy said, simply, like it could actually be that easy. But Goody spent too much time overthinking and analyzing things, and even now, when all his heart wanted was to just accept it, he couldn’t help his brain running away with him again.

“You could do better,” he said, almost hoping Billy would get that he was actually saying _‘you deserve better’_

“Could I?” Billy asked, closing his eyes and shaking his head for a second, before opening them and looking straight into Goody’s. “It doesn’t matter. This is my choice.”

Calloused fingers stroked Goody’s cheek, and when he looked at Billy’s face he was smiling, but Goody’s mind was still spinning away.

“Is it really a choice when I am the only one here?” Goody asked. “Just because I'm the only one in possession of some basic decency to know to treat you like a person—” he was by no means perfect, but he at least had always treated Billy with respect “—unlike everyone else we meet, doesn't mean you have to—”

“You’re not the only one,” Billy interrupted.

Goody felt a sting in his chest, and it must have shown on his face. Billy huffed, and shook his head.

“I meant you are not the only one who has shown me respect,” Billy said, “but your opinion is the one I care for.”

He cupped Goodys face between his hands.

“This is my choice.” He paused. “Our choice,” Billy said, sounding so sure and a wave of calm washed over Goody, and he let himself be pulled into a second kiss. It was slower this time, more exploratory, but no less intense. Maybe he could let himself want this, need it – maybe he could have it.

Goody lifted his hands to the back of Billy’s head. Pulling out the hairpins, he let Billy’s hair fall down, before he buried his hands in the dark locks. It really was as soft, if not softer, than he had imagined it would be. He let out a soft moan and he gave himself over to the kiss, and lowered himself down on his back, pulling Billy with him, holding him close.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so sure I wouldn't have even one fic for this fandom in me, but as it turns out I had three. But this is it!  
> (Probably... Maybe... Hopefully)
> 
> Huge thanks to wanderingsmith who read through this and told me it was worth posting, as well as helped me with the editing. Without it I definitely would not be posting this.  
> (I also got help with the editing from Macca, but I wrote her a thing in a fandom she's actually familiar with the source material for as a bribe to get her to do this)


End file.
